It if makes you feel better
by Hutchie
Summary: Related to "the man who murdered himself" - missing scenes at the end. - Not canon—just my view of a "what if?"


_Related to "the man who murdered himself"__  
__missing scenes at the end_

**2600 wds**

Not canon—just my view of a "what if?"

**It if makes you feel better**

by Allie

"If it'll make you feel better, hit me."

Glass clattered, a table smashed, after fist connected with jaw.

Heyes sat up, shaking his head, grimacing, and giving his jaw a rub. He looked up at his cousin with a look of wounded surprise. "What'd you do that for?"

Curry spread his arms. "You said to hit you." He was grinning a little now, his anger gone, enjoying the spectacle of his partner splayed on the floor, all his smooth words knocked out of him.

Curry reached down and gave him a hand, hefted him to his feet. "Gotta tell ya something, Joshua."

"What's that?" Heyes gave him a frown, massaging his sore chin, working it.

"You go down like a real lightweight."

"That's because I wasn't prepared!"

"Why not? You didn't think I'd actually do it?"

"No!"

"Well, you offered."

Heyes growled a little. "Didn't expect you to take me up on it." Then he muttered something.

"What's that, Joshua? What about Boston?" He dusted off Heyes' shirt for him, and tossed some coins to the grumpy bartender, smiling and raising his hands to show he was done roughhousing. He led his pal to the bar.

Heyes massaged his chin and grimaced.

"C'mon, let me buy you a drink—with that two hundred I earned while you were fooling around," offered Curry.

"Fooling around? I busted my neck for these fake archeologists!" His dark eyes flashed indignation.

"Archy-ologists. You're saying it wrong."

"No, we were saying it wrong at first."

Curry swallowed his first drink before turning back to Heyes. "Wait a minute. They were fake?"

"If you'd have let me tell you. It's a dirty tale of greed and a lost treasure hoard of diamonds, giant redheaded Indians, and—"

"Diamonds?"

"Oh, now you're interested."

"Yeah. Tell me."

Slowly, and with more grumbling from Heyes, the whole story came out. By the time he finished, Curry was digging into his second plate of beef stew, and finishing off the lump of cornbread, both of which the barkeeper had grudgingly sold him. Heyes just sat there and talked and drank, occasionally holding his cool glass up to his chin.

"Hmph." Curry snorted. "Still say you should've got your money one way or the other."

Heyes turned to stare at him. "Off a dead man? You can't be serious."

Curry sat his glass down with a thump of finality. "He promised to pay you. He owes you that money. Death don't break the contract."

"Kid, there was no contract signed, just word of honor, and he didn't have any. And if you think I'm going to the sheriff's office, or try to scare up a judge to demand my pay—"

"Just should've taken it off him. That's what I'd have done."

Heyes snorted. "Kid, I'd like to see you try. Under a British lawman's nose, taking money from a man who just died. We aren't grave robbers."

"He didn't have no more use for it, and he promised," said Curry stubbornly.

"That's quibbling."

"Heyes."

"What?"

"You sure do pick your times to get honest."

#

Later that evening, after Curry had had a nice bath and they'd both changed for bed, they lay on their beds in the room they'd rented. (It always was too expensive to rent two rooms, but they'd splurged on two beds this time.)

He was so tired he didn't think he could stay awake more than a couple minutes, but all the same, he had something more to say, here where it was quiet and they were alone.

"Heyes. Why didn't you go?"

His cousin, who had been yawning, turned to stare at him. "Where?"

"To Boston. You could've sent me a telegram. I could've joined you—found some decent work, stayed outta trouble for our year. Back East is probably no worse than around here, trouble-wise."

Heyes cracked a smile. "Except we'd have to do indoor work. Probably couldn't even get a job branding cattle for five dollars a week."

Curry stared at his cousin. Didn't he get it? "If it was serious, I wouldn't have minded. That's the whole point of us getting clean with the law. So we can go on and have lives."

"Kid, if it were serious, she'd have offered to stay with me. And I'd have maybe been tempted to tell her my real name. And you know it wouldn't be fair to get involved with a woman with this hanging over our heads. 'Sides. Even if one of us wants out, I think it's only fair to say it to each other face to face." He rolled onto his side, facing Curry, and stared at him. "Don't you?"

"Yeah." They eyed each other over the space between their beds, kinda warily, and then Heyes nodded. Curry smiled at his cousin, kinda rueful, and Heyes smiled back just the tiniest bit, looking sort of relieved.

"Good," he said quiet-like, with a sort of 'hmph' sound, and eased back. Then, slowly, he began to rub his jaw, wincing again and frowning.

Curry's eyes narrowed. "You gonna rub that stupid jaw all night?"

"I wouldn't have to if somebody hadn't—"

"Give it a rest!" Kid frowned at the ceiling, crossing his arms over his chest.

A very loud silence lasted several long, unsleeping minutes. Both men lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Curry could almost hear Heyes' brain working.

Curry decided to beat him to it. "Heyes, I ain't gonna say sorry I hit you. Because I ain't sorry."

Heyes rolled sideways to face the Kid. "You damn well ought to be. If you'd have given me five minutes to explain what happened—"

Curry turned to face him as well. "It's not about the explanation, Heyes. It's about you gettin' your own way all the time, and then when it don't work out, you think you can fix it and get out from under any blame by turning on the charm."

"I do not!" He sounded grumpily indignant, as if that couldn't possibly be the truth.

"You do. And also you shouldn't piss off a man who's been on the trail for days. I could've used your help, Heyes, but no, you had to fool around at Devil's Hole."

Heyes flung a hand in the air in exasperation. "I was not fooling around! I was trying to earn money for the both of us. And we flipped fair and square! Who are you to say that my job couldn't have been the harder one? Now think about that for a second. Running into the old gang—suppose they'd still been mad at us? Maybe they'd have strung me up and left me out to dry. And don't forget I ended up going on an expedition with a ruthless killer, who might just have decided to take a shot at me, too. Just because nothing happened, doesn't mean nothing could've happened."

Curry shook his head slowly. "Heyes, you're always the same. I know you could talk your way out of anything, but you shouldn't have taken the job, unless you were sure of getting the money. Talking me into thinking otherwise isn't gonna work." He rolled over stubbornly and pulled his pillow over his head, to drown out the rest of Heyes' words.

But no more came. He knew; he listened for them, until a deep, even breathing showed him that Heyes had beaten him to sleep, after all.

#

In the morning, Heyes had a big bruise where Curry had knocked him one on the side of his chin. Curry did a double take and stared at him, over the table during breakfast.

Heyes gave Curry a sour, sarcastic smile, and a faint tilt of the head. He lifted a glass to his lips and sipped it, slow. He didn't eat much.

Heyes left before Curry had finished breakfast. Curry swallowed a big chunk of ham and eggs, and a mess of guilt.

They were planning to stay in town several days. Heyes had scoped the place out, found it safe enough, with a sheriff who was none too bright (although he bore a suspicious resemblance to several other people the two had met in their travels), and didn't recognize them at all. In fact, he was on good speaking terms with Heyes. Last night, Heyes had also said the gambling looked good and they should check it out and earn a stake.

The next time Curry saw him, Heyes was sipping from a little bottle, standing on the porch of a prosperous- and busy-looking gambling hall.

Curry gave him a look and reached for it. "What are you taking?"

Heyes handed it over to him with one of his smiles, but with a slightly dark look still in his eyes. "Oh, nothing. Just a little something I call—"

"'Aunt Amelia's Ache Alleviator,'" read Curry in a disbelieving voice. He looked up at Heyes from under his hat, trying to gauge if his partner was serious or pulling his leg.

Heyes gave him one of those dark-eyed, innocent looks. He spread his hands. "For the pain."

"Probably rot your gut," said Curry, and shoved it back into his hands. He moved past him quickly, into the swinging doors, hoping he could get into a friendly game of poker, maybe win a little cash. True, Heyes was the better poker player—but Curry wasn't half bad, either. He'd handed over half his earnings (grudgingly), so they were starting out even.

About an hour later, he stepped out for some fresh air and a break from the claustrophobic confines of the music and smoke. He took a few deep breaths, frowning out into the street, squeezing the wooden railing hard under his gloved hands.

He'd come out ahead, but only barely—eight bucks worth, and had to fight for it by the skin of his teeth. The cards hadn't been going his way; he hadn't spotted anyone cheating off him, but he'd wondered sure enough a couple of times. Nope, the cards just weren't going his way. He was all out of luck, what with him and Heyes fighting.

Heyes was just trying to mess with his head, though, for sure…. Yeah, for sure. It hadn't been that hard a punch. Curry flexed his gloved right hand, trying to recreate the situation in his mind. He'd pulled back and swung. Had he swung extra hard? Had Heyes been too close, took it direct-like? He frowned out into the street, and his glove leather creaked as he squeezed a fist.

"Careful with that thing," said Heyes in a deadpan, deep voice.

Curry's jaw tightened, but he didn't look at Heyes. His eyes travelled the street, alert, keeping an eye out for trouble, the way he always had to do in town.

"I earned a hundred more," said Heyes casually. "It's getting a little hot in there, I'll have to lay off for tonight. I'll win more later, or in the next town. Oh, and I owe you a sock on the jaw." So saying, he pushed off from the rail and swaggered away, shoving the brim of his hat up a little.

Curry watched him go, aiming a sour frown at his back.

#

Curry stayed in a bad mood all day. Didn't see much of Heyes. Curry must've been walking around with a chip on his shoulder, because several people skittered out of his way—inoffensive-looking ones—and some other people gave him mean looks, like they felt ready to test themselves against him, but somehow didn't quite dare.

He headed in to try his hand at poker again.

Someone bumped against him. He turned with a glare—to face a bearded giant who towered over him. "Watch it," the stranger rumbled. "Watch who you bump into." And he gave Curry a shove.

"Hey." Heyes was there, instantly. Where had he appeared from? He stood near them both, smiling and smiling. "Excuse my friend. He's awfully thirsty. Why don't the three of us go have a drink?" Dimpled smile. "My treat!"

Curry watched, dry-mouthed, while his partner managed to talk the raging bull into having a drink with him…and then ended up in a poker game with the man, stepping out with a "too rich for my blood" after only taking five of the guy's dollars.

But he didn't say anything to Curry all evening.

Kid was still feeling mean and proddy that night. He stayed up late, and when he got to the room finally, banged his toe on the dresser before he got the lantern lit. He hissed, limping a little, and glanced at Heyes' bed to see if he'd woken him.

Heyes lay there looking still and vulnerable, younger somehow. And even by the lamplight, Curry could see the dark outline of the bruise. Kid swallowed. He really shouldn't have hit Heyes so hard….

In his sleep, Heyes frowned and rolled over. Kid winced, and tiptoed to his bed. His gun belt made a small sound as he unbuckled it, though, and the gun thumped against the bed when he hung it up. He looked up—to see Heyes' eyes open slowly.

"H'llo Kid."

"Heyes." He sat down on the edge of his bed, facing Heyes.

"Hm?" A yawn.

"You know I wouldn'ta hit you if you hadn't pushed me." He felt the springs creak a little under him. "I told you not to tell me right away. You wouldn't let me alone for a few minutes, to get a drink, maybe clean up a little. No, you had to offer—"

Heyes yawned, and waved the suggestion away. "Forget it, Kid. I'm not really gonna sock you. I just said that." He rolled onto his back.

Curry blinked a little at the resigned, weary note in Heyes' voice. Then he frowned. "I'm tryin' to apologize, Heyes."

"Yeah?" Heyes turned his head to blink sleepily at Kid, his eyebrows rising in mild surprise.

"I'm sorry," said Curry miserably. Even in the dim lamplight, he could see the bruise clearly. Was Heyes tilting it on purpose, to make him stare at what he'd done? But no, he was too sleepy to plot anything…wasn't he?

Kid swallowed, and got up. "I'm getting a drink."

"It's late." Heyes smiled. "And there's a bottle under the bed."

Defeated by the smile, and the logic of that—Heyes usually _was_ right—Curry got down on his knees and peered under it. Didn't see anything. "Which bed?"

"Mine."

Kid bit his lower lip, and smiled when he found the bottle. He pulled it out from under the bed and uncorked it, went to pour himself a drink. "You want one?"

"Okay." Heyes sat up and scratched a hand through his hair, yawning once more. He wore long johns. His bare feet hung towards the floor.

Curry poured generously, glad they weren't fighting now. It had been hard to say sorry, but he was glad he'd swallowed his pride. He handed Heyes a glass, and then took a swallow of his own. "You figure the town's good for more? Or you wanna head out tomorrow?"

Heyes held his glass, looking more awake already. "Nah, Kid. They like us here. I don't think we should risk a town with a sheriff who might recognize us. Not yet."

Curry paused with his glass halfway to his mouth, and lowered it again, watching Heyes. That bruise _was_ ugly…. Curry swallowed, hard. "You can hit me back." Maybe that would make him feel better…

"Nah, don't worry about it, Kid. You were right—it's my own fault." Heyes took a drink, and lowered the glass. "You want to hear about the tall Indians?"

Curry smiled happily. "Yep."

"Well." Heyes got an anticipatory smile on his face. "To start off with, they were seven feet tall…"


End file.
